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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380745">The End of All Things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallmecappy/pseuds/justcallmecappy'>justcallmecappy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>GreedFall (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Ending, CW/TW: Suicide Attempt, Gen, GreedFall Spoilers, gender-unspecified de Sardet, story spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:08:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380745</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallmecappy/pseuds/justcallmecappy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He is a magnificent sight, in his fine embroidered clothes and ornate armour … and a crown of antler-like horns sweeping from his head; moss-green tendrils spreading like veins across his pale, gaunt face. He is terrible, and he is beautiful. </p><p>And I am determined to save him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Constantin d'Orsay &amp; De Sardet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Recollections</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 1 – Recollections</strong>
</p>
<p>He offers his hand to me, his eyes dark and imploring.</p>
<p>He is a magnificent sight, in his fine, embroidered clothes and gilded armour … and a crown of antler-like horns sweeping from his head; moss-green tendrils spreading like veins across his pale, gaunt face. He is terrible, and he is beautiful.</p>
<p><em>Constantin.</em> My poor, sweet cousin.</p>
<p>All around us, the world seems to be falling apart. We are so far from home, so far away from everything we have ever known, standing in the crumbling, fiery heart of a volcano … but it’s as if we stand at the very edge of the world, where all things end.</p>
<p>Constantin’s promises had spun such a tremendous vision in my head: I could see the empty void stretching ahead of us, sweeping and bright, full of endless possibilities. <em>Gods of the new world</em>, he had called us. We have the chance to create beauty and goodness; all we have to do is seize it.</p>
<p>And behind us … behind us is the old world. Full of cruelty and hate. A rotting world built on lies, ravaged by war and corruption, where goodness was stifled, and those with power were uncaring and silent and forever locked in petty squabbles while the world decayed.</p>
<p>But it is also the world where my friends had stood by me, had fought beside me. Behind us is the world we had tried so hard to heal together. I see their faces now, rising from the smoke of my memories, blazing forth through the gloom, reminding me that they are still out there, bravely fighting for me, waiting for me.</p>
<p>The seconds stretch into infinity. I am faced with a colossal, impossible decision I cannot make, and the cruel weight of the dagger is heavy and cold in my hands.</p>
<p>“Constantin,” I plead. “<em>Please.</em> There must be some other way.”</p>
<p>“There is no other way,” he says, his voice dark with anger. “Do you not see your folly, cousin? How you defend this ugly world that tried to use us, this old world that has lied to us. Forget them. They do not care for us – they never did. We’ll create a better world than they ever could.”</p>
<p>Again, he holds his hand out to me, and beckons gently. “You have nothing to fear. Not when we are together.”</p>
<p>A sudden echo of a memory burns at the edges of my mind – a faint memory of our childhood, obscured by the fog of time: Constantin as a boy, dangling from the parapets of our family castle back home, the ground far below him, his face pale and his knuckles white, and his cheeks streaked with tears.</p>
<p>
  <em>“You have nothing to fear. Not when we are together.”</em>
</p>
<p>I had said those same words to him, so long ago – a day so distant that I had nearly forgotten.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>“Let me go, cousin.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“No,” I screamed against the wind, my arms trembling from terror and strained muscle. “I can’t let you fall!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I can’t face it anymore,” he sobbed. “I hate them all, I hate them all! And they hate me, too.” He spoke as if his heart was breaking. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>My grip on his arms was the only thing that prevented him from plummeting to the rocky ground many feet below, and his weight pulling me down made my limbs feel as if they would snap. My body was pressed to the stone battlements, and I could feel the brutal cold seep into my skin. I was growing numb.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But I did not let go – I would not let go.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I met his scared, sad eyes, and a terrible surge of strength built in my chest –</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>– and before I knew I was saying them, I had cried out the words as if they came straight from my heart.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I will fix the world for you!” I promised him, “I will fix it. I can do it. I will fix this world so that you can bear it, and I will stay beside you. You have nothing to fear, Constantin. Not when we are together.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He looked at me, in shock, in fear, in silent, terrible pleading. The tears that gathered in his eyes were swept away by the wind.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And then – he gripped my hand, clinging back, and climbed up.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I pulled him up with every fibre of strength my small body could muster, my muscles screaming in agony. He collapsed beside me. And we lay there for what seemed like an eternity, exhausted by spent fear and relief, staring up at the cloud-streaked sky as the rain began to gently fall.</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>I had been told a version of that story many times by our palace servants. They told me he had climbed up the palace walls in defiance of his father – just another one of his reckless, childish pranks; an act of disobedience that went horribly wrong.</p>
<p>His little stunt became somewhat of a legend throughout the palace, something for the courtiers to bring up as an amusing story during dinner parties. <em>“You saved his Highness’ life that day,”</em> they told me. <em>“He was so lucky you were there.”</em></p>
<p>I believed this tale all my life. For some reason, I could not recall my memory of it – since that day, I only had vague recollections of a cold stormy day on the palace parapets, the clouds low and grey with the threat of rain. The rest was lost to the fog of time.</p>
<p>But now, so long from that windswept day, I know why I couldn’t remember it – I had unknowingly suppressed it; I didn’t <em>want </em>to know the horror, the terrible knowledge of why Constantin was really up there.</p>
<p>He had not climbed the palace walls in an act of defiance, or childish disobedience.</p>
<p>He had climbed up there because he wanted to die.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, Constantin.</em>
</p>
<p>We were so young. We were only <em>children</em>. Yet, even as a child he felt his life without worth, driven to despair by the torment of growing up in his father’s court.</p>
<p>It was that same despair that drove him here – he hid it well, behind his quick smiles and easy laughter. But he carried it with him, and it had grown into such hate and bitterness, and he had allowed it to bring him to the edge of the world, and crown himself a god.</p>
<p>I look at him, meet the sadness and darkness in those eyes. <em>“I must look monstrous to you,”</em> he had said me, but he did not seem to me a monster – even now, I see the same scared little boy, who clung to me as he silently pleaded to me, the wind whipping through his blond hair.</p>
<p>My voice is quiet. I whisper over the storm around us.</p>
<p>“I will fix this world.”</p>
<p>He stares at me, uncomprehending. “What?”</p>
<p>“This world – I will fix it, not just for you, but for everyone. For all of us. I will fix this world so that you can bear it, and we will live in it together.”</p>
<p>The light in his eyes flickers, so subtly. And I know, then, he remembers it, too – that dark day, that grey day; the day he decided to die.</p>
<p>“You can’t.” His voice trembles. “It’s impossible. Our enemies are stronger than us. And they will prevail. Unless <em>we</em> become stronger than <em>them</em>.” The shadows around us seems to grow, then. The winds howl around us, like wolves, filled with dark fire.</p>
<p>But I do not falter. He is my cousin. And I will not let him fall.</p>
<p>I take a step towards him.</p>
<p>Suddenly I see doubt in his eyes – but I reach for his forearm, grip it tightly and pull him close. His cheek is cold against my skin.</p>
<p>I give him my story, as the darkness rises around us.</p>
<p>It is like the dreams I’ve seen, when I took on the Trial of Waters, or when connecting to sanctuaries scattered through the island – but instead of being shown visions of lightning-scarred trees and cold running streams, instead I give Constantin my story – I show him the good we have done throughout the island: the people whom we had helped, and the people whom have helped us. I show him the light returning to the world; despair overturned by hope, ruin overcome by healing.</p>
<p><em>We are fixing this world, </em>I tell him.<em> The land is healing.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>And you can heal, too.</em>
</p>
<p>The chaos around us seems to falter; the summoned darkness quietens into a whisper.</p>
<p>All around us is silence.</p>
<p>Constantin falls to his knees. At the same time, I drop the dagger, where it falls, forgotten, among the dust and debris.</p>
<p>He is sobbing, great terrible sobs that rack through his whole body, and I cling to him, holding him close. I do not let him go.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Reconciliation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 2 – Reconciliation  </strong>
</p><p>“What have I done?” he says in a hoarse whisper, ragged by tears. “What have I done, what have I done?”</p><p>“Quiet now,” I say, trying to soothe him, but Constantin pulls away.</p><p>“I’ve done terrible things, cousin. People have suffered, people have died because of me. I – I’m no better than my father.”</p><p>“That’s not true.” I try to say something, anything – but he seems to be in a place beyond all words, now. He clenches his fists in anguish and he presses them to his face. For a while he is inconsolable, and I can only look upon him helplessly.</p><p>“Constantin,” I whisper, softly. I place a hand on his shoulder. “Come now – let’s go home.”</p><p>But where he had been overcome by emotion a moment before, a great sudden calm comes over him. He looks at me, eyes clearing, and says, “I can’t let things stay this way.” Then, in a quieter voice, “I must set things right.”</p><p>I stare at him, confused.</p><p>He turns around. “<em>En ol mil frichtimen</em>.”</p><p>The earth stirs awake around us. The great tree that stands in the heart of the volcano seems to tremble, as if shaken awake by a thousand voices.</p><p>And a voice – one of the many thousand – rings through our hearts and minds and if transcending mere speech: <em>« Child of a ruined land, » </em>the voice says, <em>« you seek reconciliation. You seek to bargain with us. »</em></p><p>“Yes,” Constantin replies. I realize that <em>en ol mil frichtimen</em> can see into Constantin’s heart and mind, where I cannot. He rises to his feet, and stands before the great tree, his arms outstretched and imploring. “I made mistakes that I intend to resolve. I know the laws of this island, and I know what I must do.”</p><p><em>« You are bold to seek redemption, after what you have done, » </em>the voice of <em>en ol mil frichtimen</em> says. <em>« But we have judged the price you offer, and we accept. Come forward. » </em></p><p>A sudden, dark realization comes over me. “No,” I whisper, which grows into a shout, “Wait, no! Constantin, I forbid it!”</p><p>He turns to me, half-smiling wistfully. “A trade,” he says brightly, as if it were another one of his brilliant plans. “Two hundred years ago, my ancestors came to this island and tore it apart with their selfishness, their endless greed. And here I am, generations later, last surviving heir in a bloodline of murderers and plunderers, summoned here against all odds, to atone for the sins of my forebears.” He pauses thoughtfully; tilts his head to one side. “It’s almost … poetic.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do this,” I protest. My blood runs cold under my skin, and I can feel a ringing in my ears. “This ... this isn’t what I wanted.”</p><p>Constantin shakes his head; smiles ruefully. "Chasing and getting what we want ... it's what got us into this mess in the first place, isn't it?" He laughs, suddenly. "I'm glad I didn't get what I wanted. I hope you will forgive me."</p><p>“Why do you think you have to do this?” I nearly scream. I am furious. I do not know if it is from confusion, or fear of losing him, or anger at him making this choice without me. My breath comes in shallow gasps – it is suddenly hard to breathe.</p><p>Constantin approaches to me. I am trembling as he draws his arms around me; holds me in a tight embrace. “My lucky star,” he whispers next to my ear, “you have been so strong for me, for so long. This time, let me return the favour, hmm?” I can hear the smile in his voice.</p><p>I struggle against his embrace, sobbing in protest. “Don’t go,” I try to say, the words choked and strained as I struggle to say them. “D-don’t go where I can’t … follow you.”</p><p>But he only presses close and holds onto me tighter. “I won’t be far. I will always be where you can find me, dear cousin,” he says. “And know that I love you, so very much.”</p><p>He releases me, then. As he backs away from me, I try to reach out to him, but suddenly I cannot move; he had anchored me in place, vine roots twisting around my ankles, as strong as vices. The earth suddenly crumbles beneath us – and the deafening roar of the cavern collapsing around us drowns out my screams.</p><p>The last thing I see are the fallen volcanic stones encasing Constantin’s body, enveloping him like a nest. I had seen this happen once before, that day as I sought to rescue him from High King Vinbarr on that high precipice where we had fought for Constantin’s life.</p><p>But the stones do not seem to be burying him, or suffocating him, as they did, then. The last sight of him to disappear behind the wall of stone is his face – and he is smiling.</p><p><em>« </em> <em>Look out for yourself. »</em></p><p>All around us, as it fell apart –</p><p>
  <em>– the world seems to be singing.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Recovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 3 – Recovery</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>A ringing in my ears. Brightness behind my eyes. And then voices, muffled as if being heard from underwater.</em>
</p><p>I blink my eyes open. As my vision clears, I instantly recognize Siora and Vasco’s faces as they stare down at me, the concern creasing their faces suddenly melting into joy.</p><p>“You’re awake,” Siora cries out.</p><p>“We thought we nearly lost you,” Vasco says, voice strained.</p><p>There is a sound of approaching footsteps – and suddenly Kurt comes into view, his face pale with worry – he has shadows under his eyes and looks like he hasn’t slept. “Green Blood,” he breathes. He falls to his knees at my side, and I notice – with slow, dawning realization – I am on my bed, in my room in New Serene. I unsteadily sit up.</p><p>“Call Aphra,” Kurt says, “and Petrus.”</p><p>Vasco disappears down the stairs while Siora and Kurt stay beside me.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” Siora asks, gently.</p><p>I try to speak, but my throat is parched.</p><p>Siora hands me a cup of water – I take it from her, raise it to my lips. As I drink, Aphra and Petrus had made their way up the steps, and as they catch sight of me, their faces light up in relief.</p><p>“Thank the Enlightened,” Petrus sighs, hands clasped in prayer. Aphra strides to the bedside, looking at my face intently.</p><p>“De Sardet,” she asks, and I could hear her suppressing the tremble from her voice, “Do you feel any nausea? Dizziness?”</p><p>“No,” I answer. I am surprised how hoarse my voice sounds. “I’m … just a little confused. The last thing I remember was the battle, and …” I stop to look at them, properly this time.</p><p>They look battle-worn and tired, but none worse for wear. It looks like everyone made it out of the battle alright. “How did the battle go?”</p><p>“After you left, things got really grim,” Kurt says, from my bedside. “It looked as if the tides were turning against us. The corrupted beasts kept on coming at us, in waves … but just as it was looking like our darkest hour, they just … stopped, suddenly.”</p><p>“They looked as if to be listening,” Siora adds.</p><p>“And just as suddenly, they all fled. Leaving us be.” Kurt shakes his head. “Nothing short of a miracle.”</p><p>“We have been tending to the wounded since the battle ended,” Petrus says. “With thanks to the Enlightened, no lives were lost. And though many of us were gravely wounded, there have been enough potions to go around.”</p><p>I look around at them, as my thoughts become clearer. “The heart of the volcano,” I say, quietly, as the memory of the battle comes trickling back. A sudden, terrible realization overtakes me, and I grow cold. “Wait – what happened to Constantin?”</p><p>The others exchange looks.</p><p>“When we arrived at the sanctuary after the battle was over, we found you outside,” Vasco offers, tentatively. “We did not see any sign of your cousin. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You’ve been unconscious for seventeen hours,” Aphra adds. “When we found you, we thought … we thought you were wounded, but you were barely scratched. I checked for signs of a concussion, but it seemed as if you were merely asleep.”</p><p>And then, with sudden clarity, I remember what happened in the heart of the volcano – what I saw, the choice Constantin made. Tears suddenly spring to my eyes.</p><p>And then I am weeping openly, and everyone is silent, at loss on what to do.</p><p>But almost immediately, like a sprung trigger, there is tremendous fussing – Aphra declares with a harried air of authority that I need food and more rest, offering to summon the best doctor to examine me. Siora then rapidly interjects, telling her about certain herbs and remedies that would help with my recuperation. Petrus politely offers to make us all tea, while Vasco seemed to have fetched a blanket for me out of nowhere. Kurt simply fluffs my up my pillows, gently asking if I feel like having porridge; they were just making some for supper.</p><p>Despite all that had happened, the sudden fussing somehow seems to soothe me, and lull me into a strange sort of comfort. I wipe the tears from my face with the back of my hand.</p><p>I try not to think back on the battle, or what happened in the volcano. The millions of questions whirling in my head quieten to just a whisper; and I lean back, looking upon my friends around me, and I concentrate on one certain, definite thought: <em>I am home.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Many years later:</em>
</p><p>The journey to become a <em>doneigad</em> had been long and strange and difficult. But I began as Siora’s <em>voglendaig</em>, and she was a kind and patient teacher. Under the guidance of High King Dunncas, and even with the personal favor of the <em>tierna harh</em> Mev herself, I surpassed all the trials and learned all I needed to deepen the bond to the island that I inherited from my mother.</p><p>The more I drew upon this bond and strengthened it, the more I realized – it was as if I had been asleep my whole life, and I was being awakened for the first time.</p><p>On the evening of my bonding ritual, I took Siora aside, and asked, “Has it always been like this?”</p><p>She grinned at me. “Yes. And it only gets stronger with time.”</p><p>And now I am a fully-fledged <em>doneigad</em>, against all possible odds. I, too, have my own grand crown of antler-like branches sweeping proudly from my head, which everyone reacted to differently.</p><p>Visiting Kurt at the Coin Guard Headquarters in New Serene earned his amusement. When he first saw my antler-like crown, and he teased me to no end: “You look more like Siora’s twin than Eseld does,” he said, to which I laughed. We spent the rest of the day catching up in the Coin Tavern, and he told me of Sieglinde’s imminent transfer back to the Continent, and his possible promotion to Commander on the Island. “Sometimes I miss the good old days, watching your back,” he said, smiling (I like the way how his smiles come easier now; and the gentleness in his eyes). “But I daresay you hardly need it now. I am proud of you, Green Blood, I truly am. More than you’ll ever know.”</p><p>Scheduling an audience with the ever-preoccupied Father Cardinal Petrus was usually near-impossible, but he always made time to see me. He looked surprised when my horns made their first budding appearance – but the more his eyes lingered on me, the more wistful and distant they became, and I knew he somehow saw the ghost of my mother behind his eyes. “You’ve done well, my child,” he told me, warmly. “May the Enlightened always watch over you, no matter where your path takes you.”</p><p>Aphra’s time was no less scarce; she traveled across the island, spending time in each of the native villages, compiling her research for her book on the cultures of Tir Fradi. When she learnt I had passed the trails to become <em>doneigad</em>, she was bursting with enthusiastic questions: “Could you describe to me, in explicit detail, what you felt and experienced during the bonding ritual?” and she had her journal and pen ready to take notes. I tried to describe to her the best way that I could – the feeling of being awake and dreaming, the voices that spoke without words, the feeling of connection and belonging. “Does a leaf know it is connected to the twig, the branch, the roots of the tree?” I mused aloud to her – and she finally put down her pen, smiled gently at me with understanding in her bright eyes, and somehow, that seemed to be enough.</p><p>On the rare occasion he returned from his months away seafaring, Fleet Commander Vasco would make time to meet me in over a pint of beer in whichever city he was docked in. He merely chuckled when he saw my horns, and said, “You know, I always thought Naut tattoos would have suited you, but somehow those look better on you.” And then, in a gentler voice, “You’ve done very well for yourself, de Sardet. I’m proud to have been by your side, all those years ago.” And he would tell me of his sea voyages – tales of distant lands and stormy seas and strange creatures of the deep, until the candles burnt low.</p><hr/><p>The springtime morning is cool and still.</p><p>There is a certain brightness that lingers in the air, and as the light of morning touches the earth and grass and the trees, I can almost hear the voices of the island stir awake and whisper to me in their wordless, endless song.</p><p>High King Dunncas waits for me at the doors to Anemhaid. He is smiling as he greets me.</p><p>“<em>Doneigad</em>,” he says, with no small measure of pride in his voice. “Are you prepared?”</p><p>I take a deep breath. “I have my tribute ready,” I say, holding up a woven basket. “And I stayed up last night until the moon was high, performing the preparation ritual.”</p><p>“Yes, that is all very good,” Dunncas says, “but what of your heart? What does it tell you, in this moment?”</p><p>I pause. “I thought I would be nervous,” I say, “but I don’t. All I feel is … <em>peace</em>.”</p><p>Dunncas’ smile grows wider. “Then all is well. Go with a ready and willing heart, <em>carants</em>. And I trust you will find what you are looking for.”</p><p>The island and all its voices call out to me in their glittering, never-ending melody: in the whisper of the grass, the murmuring of the creeks and rivers, the solemn deep chanting of the mountains and metals deep in the earth.</p><p>But there is one voice that is still elusive, even though I have been listening for it all these years. I can catch whispers of it, in the precious few moments of dawn just before the light reaches the sky; in the hushed falling of autumn leaves, subtle murmurs in the wind.</p><p>I trek up the winding path up the side of the volcano, stopping to rest occasionally. The air is warm and humid from the slumbering volcano’s fires, and I work up a sweat on my climb.</p><p>Finally, I reach my destination – the heart sanctuary of Credhenes. I have not been back here since that day, the Battle of Dorhadgenedu so many years ago.</p><p>Inside, is it cool and silent. In that hallowed space, the stillness is only broken by the whispering song of the island, muted as if coming from far away.</p><p>The great tree stands in the heart, flowering with springtime blossoms, bathed in the light of the sun coming from the volcano’s overhead, cavernous mouth. I step into the sanctuary, offering my greetings to <em>en ol mil frichtimen</em>, and place my tribute of wild honey, earthenware pot of spring water and flowers on the stone altar.</p><p>I sit facing the great tree. I close my eyes. And slowly, gently, open my heart to the song of the island.</p><p>The voices of the island tell me their story – how the island rose from the sea in fire and flaming stone, how thousands of cycles passed as the land grew rich and green and bountiful. The first people to arrive came in a fleet of seafaring canoes, driven by the wind and waves from distant islands in search of a new home. They built villages, they had children, and what they took from the land, they gave back in return.</p><p>Many more cycles passed. Then the people of the sea came, in warships bigger than houses. They tore up the earth in search of precious stones and metals, their greed and thirst insatiable. The magic of the island awoke to drive them away. Blood was spilled, buildings were shattered, the earth trembled and shook in fury. They fled home in shame on their warships, sails billowing like great wings carrying them away. A great many years passed before the people across the sea came again, first in trickles, then in droves.</p><p>The song shifts, and turns into something far more familiar. The recent years’ worth of events come to me like a fine melody, strong and sweet.</p><p>After the dust of the Battle settled, the fragmented factions of the island came together under a tentative new Alliance.</p><p>Under Commander Sieglinde’s leadership and Captain Kurt’s guidance, the Coin Guard were reformed. No more Ghost Camps or Phantom Regiments; no more recruits going missing or dying under mysterious circumstances. Now, more than ever, it was an honour to join the ranks of the Guard, and they saw recruits across all walks of life, not just from the desperate and destitute.</p><p>The Nauts reformed their recruitment practices as well, opening their ranks to anyone seeking a new life at sea. The sea-given were given a chance to reconcile with the families they were taken from, and these new policies of openness saw their numbers grow exponentially. Even a few Natives joined their ranks, eager to see lands beyond the shores of Tir Fradi.</p><p>Somehow, fighting side by side at the Battle of Dorhadgenedu had resulted in a strange but solid truce between the factions of Theleme and the Bridge Alliance settled on the island. The war being waged between their parent countries on the Continent no longer seemed to concern the colonies, and they embraced a new way of life on the island. The cities of Hikmet and Theleme traded more freely between each other – not just in goods and services, but in knowledge, as well. There was even news that the powers on the Continent were starting to look to the colonies of Teer Fradee as a paradigm for ending the war, and paving the way towards peace.</p><p><em>The world is healing</em>, I say, hoping the song would carry my words. <em>I wish you could be here to see it.</em></p><p>But then, the song changes, ever so slightly. The melody softens; then rises to a soaring crescendo. All around me, springtime flower petals rise and fall with the whirling of the breeze. And a new voice joins in the song, sparkling and clear and new.</p><p>A familiar voice I had been searching for, listening for all these years.</p><p><em>« My adorable cousin</em><em>, » </em>the voice murmurs softly, like the touch of flower petals, speaking straight to my heart. <em>« I knew you would find me.</em><em> »</em></p><p>And tears spring to my eyes. My heart aches with a sweet, sublime sort of pain as it soars; and the years fall away into the infinite depths of time. I feel like a child again, and the world is bright and new.</p><p>I follow the island’s melody, leaning into the rising and falling chorus, and I join my song with his.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>After finishing GreedFall for the first time, I wished there could have been an option to save Constantin. This fic was basically me writing the ending I wanted. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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